|Whoever would have guessed?
||[Aug. 12th, 2012|08:56 pm]
Emma Grace Frost
That you can miss your own birthday? Well, missed in the sense of having a glittering bash in Paris attended by scions of industry and. Well. Let's stick with scions, shall we? Most of them don't want people to know exactly what they're scions of.
Apparently, having your own wanted poster (even if it can be laughingly dismissed as an identification error made by a megalomaniacal, twisted, genetically engineered, spider/monster/robothead/dictator) requires a truly concentrated and extensive round of delicate and personal contract negotiations. BEFORE all your company's government contracts get terminated.
Still. I had one of the posters framed and shall keep it in my personal collection. One doesn't often get such a personalised memento of one's role in bringing down a psychotic spider-headed robotic squid-man. Or whatever it was Moreau was there at the end.
Fortunately, I managed to finish it all off with corporate boxes at the Olympics and have spent two weeks in London being gloated at by British people and having Heston make me lunchboxes. And now that the glittering carnival is over, I hope to be home in a few days to continue the hijinks and shenanigans.
Did I miss anything while I was away?